Fallen Love

If Love has fallen into disrepute,
And they who fought for him now conquered bleed.
And they who once believed forswear his creed.
And spurn his shrine with sacrilegious foot.
Fell his fair tree and trample on the fruit, —
What joy is left? What glory for our meed?
Where shall we turn for comfort in our need?
What voice shall answer when Love's voice is mute?

Whose mocking cry is this that rends the night.
And shouts, " Rejoice that conquering Love is dead;
Dethroned, defamed, cast out of all men's sight, —
Now is the time for rapture and delight!
Come one, come all! where Pleasure's feast is spread
Since Love is dead, and Pain is put to flight!"